The Honeymoon
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara and Gil Grissom, in Costa Rica, in a canoe, on a honeymoon. GSR, all fluff and fun! Rating bumped to "M"--but mostly sweet fluffy stuff!
1. Chapter 1

**The Honeymoon: Chapter 1**

**The River Sarapiqui **

"I never meant to marry," she said.

The man behind her laughed.

Sara Sidle Grissom crossed her bare legs—she had rolled her pants to her knees—and laughed with him before she continued. "I daydreamed about romantic boyfriends, but I was also sensible enough to know I never wanted to be…" she glanced at him, "wanted to be dominated by any man," she finished with a certain interesting tone in her voice.

Gil Grissom's husky chuckle pleased her ears. She heard the dip and paddle of the water as the boat they were in moved a little faster than the current.

"But you sort of swept me off my feet the first time we met." Her laughter was more of a light, girlish giggle and she glanced at him. "But that didn't mean I wanted to marry you!"

She turned to face him, swinging her legs over the side of the canoe as she did. By most standards, he was not a handsome man, but to her he was perfection. The past two weeks had relaxed his face, tanned his skin, and given his sapphire eyes a twinkle that she found extremely pleasing.

Her smile greeted the one on his face. "I do believe this wedded state is agreeable to us," she said, still laughing. "Especially the part where you get to paddle and I get to talk!"

The paddle came out of the water with a quick splash sound, bringing an arc of water in her direction and she shrieked as cool water hit her.

The first days of their marriage had been highly agreeable to both. They spent several days in the nearest small town, occasionally walking the streets and learning a few words of Spanish. But most of the time had been spent in a rooftop room sharing intimate privacy familiar to all newlyweds before returning to the research center where they were volunteers to a project studying migrations of wildlife.

Grissom's love of bugs had been discovered within hours of his arrival in the Costa Rican rain forest, or perhaps before, and now the two were on a voyage of sorts; if one could call an expedition in a canoe a voyage, Sara pointed out. Grissom called it their honeymoon. Following a French researcher's route, they were collecting ant data from specific areas along the river Sarapiqui. Everything they needed was packed in this canoe, including their food for two nights in a tent. The researcher insisted they would be surprised at his 'tent' accommodations: "like nothing you've seen" he pronounced as he explained their route.

Sara had never liked bugs, but she was slowly overcoming her aversion in the insect-filled forest of Costa Rica. Or maybe she was conquering her dislike because of the abundance of other wildlife or because of Grissom's enthusiastic response to anything that moved. Or because she was determined to change more than one thing about her life.

Just as quickly as she felt the cold water on her skin, he pointed to the river's bank. A dozen colorful birds, "Roseate spoonbills," he said.

The cove where the birds waded was so calm it mirrored their pink bodies with reflective images. Grissom lifted his paddle as they both watched the birds. Sara clicked several photographs as one bird lifted its head in their direction and, quickly, like a small squadron of brightly painted airplanes, they lifted and flew into the trees.

For an hour, they drifted in the faded red canoe. Sara had been concerned with its beaten condition, but the others insisted it was safe, made of unsinkable material, so she had gotten in and paddled across the river before agreeing to this river trip. They floated so near the bank that she stretched her arm and touched grasses with her hand. Most of the time, they did not converse in long talks or dialogues but pointed to flashes of fish or green backed herons or ducks or storks along the river. Occasionally, they saw monkeys—capuchins flying through trees—and one caiman, a smaller alligator looking reptile, sunning on the bank.

Sara spotted the marker for the collection site. "There's our crime scene!" Her crime reference was made to their former professions which, as both had discovered in the rainforest of Costa Rica, was not much different from research in the most biological diverse place on earth. Except less dead humans.

They veered the boat to a dead-end circle of water surrounded by a wall of tall grasses; Sara said: "It feels as though we passed through the eye of a needle."

Grissom pointed, "That looks like a path," his finger traveled upward. "I do think we've found our tent."

Sara's eyes followed. She grinned. There was something she liked about the French researcher's idea of a tent. Set high in several trees was an enclosed cabin—a tree house with canvas and net sides tied closed. A long hooked pole leaned against one of the trees and Grissom used it to pull a sliding ladder to the ground.

He grinned, saying, "Your bed, my dear," pointing upward.

She climbed, unfastened a trap door and pushed it up. She looked down. "You are not going to believe this!"

By the time he got to the opening, Sara was walking around the wood floored tent, rolling up canvas shades to provide light and air. Two large platforms were built into one corner. A canvas curtain shielded a chemical toilet in another corner. Folded against one wall was a hammock large enough for two and a plastic bucket was hooked to a pulley device for hauling things from the ground.

"Look!" Sara held up the bucket. "We bring our stuff up in this!" She turned around after raising the last canvas cover. "I feel like Jane!"

For a moment, Grissom was confused before saying "Tarzan." He did the same as Sara—walking around the room, lifting the top of several containers to find canned food, water purification equipment, rain gear. "This is beautiful—leave it to the French to put something like this in the middle of a wetlands jungle!"

Sara snickered, thinking Grissom was one of the few people she knew who would think a tent in trees and a chemical toilet was "beautiful."

They carried the waterproof duffle bags to the pulley rope and pulled them to the tree house. Grissom set out the collection kits and went in search of ants while Sara set about collecting and purifying water and preparing food. They had brought tea and coffee, fruit, cooked beans and tortillas and she worked the gas powered coil to heat water and beans. Looking out the screens of the tree house, Sara could watch Grissom as he following a trail of recently trampled grass, stooping as he worked, lost in his concentration. Sara had to occasionally pinch herself to know this wasn't a dream, and as she set the small kettle aside and emptied beans into a skillet, she shook her head and grinned. She could see Grissom's hat among the tall grasses as he stood and looked in her direction.

He whistled as he returned and as he filled the bucket with water. "Do I shower before coming up?"

Sara opened the trap door, "Your beans are hot—eat first, shower second." When she saw him, she changed her mind. "Shower—I'll be down."

The shower consisted of wetting one's skin, applying a little liquid soap, then rinsing as quickly as possible, and keeping one's mouth closed while doing so. Their towels consisted of a three-foot square of very thin fabric that wicked water but didn't really dry the skin. Sara stuffed their clothes into the bucket and climbed the ladder with the towel tucked around her waist; Grissom didn't bother to wrap his towel any where but around his neck as he scrambled up the ladder behind her.

"I love beans," he announced, "but I love Sara more!" His hand moved to her butt.

She threw a shirt in his direction, "Dress for dinner, dear," she said, "it's already cold."

Rolling beans in a tortilla would never be sexy except in a tree house in the middle of wetlands and adding a chunk of mango to the roll seemed to add to desire in this unusual, very private setting. Grissom caught a glimpse of a bare leg as he wiped plates and closed up their food in a metal box. The sun was setting as Sara stretched the hammock across the room, unrolled sleeping bags and spread them across the braided netting.

Around them, sunset seem to bring life to the grasses, river, and trees as birds and frogs and monkeys and whatever called the river, marshes, and wet forest home returned for the night. Sara slid her arms around Grissom and pressed her face against his shoulder.

"We were meant for this—for now," she said. Sara closed her eyes and put her mouth on his neck, tasting the heat and the slightly salty taste of his skin.

He led her to the padded hammock and held the edge while she scooted across the bedding. "There's not an artificial light in miles," he said and the way he said the words, so seriously, sent a shiver through Sara. He lowered himself beside her and kissed the soft places of her throat, her breasts, her belly, and her thighs.

As they made love, slowly with the familiarity of long-time lovers, the sun gradually disappeared, the sounds around them quieted to the night calls of birds and croaking frogs, and the river water swept by with its unhurried current. Somewhere outside the tree house a mystifying scent floated from some unseen flowers.

Grissom smiled, touched her face with his fingertip, traced the rim of her jaw, her lips, and nose, and then he kissed each place he had touched. Every moment seemed to be amplified by the pulsing world around them; made more vivid, made more real, stimulated by their hearts and the natural rhythms of nature.

After the eloquent words of lovemaking, communicating more than sex, providing some promising and optimistic words simmering in adrenaline, they both drifted into sleep. If either dreamed, and neither remembered the next morning, it was of a life sprung free, held in the lushness of where they were, feeling content, feeling alive.

When Grissom woke, the sun was showing a sliver of its golden dome in the east. The cool night air had tightened their hold on each other and he wrapped the sleeping bag more securely around their naked bodies. Sara stirred, breathed deeply, and settled beside him, her breathe tickling his chest. He could feel her hands on his back, feel her body stretched next to his. He knew he loved this woman; he felt life had erupted in him again. He wished for the thick book of poetry, but thought of two lines from a poet older than Shakespeare, _"Lovers don't finally meet somewhere; they are in each other all along."_

He stayed until Sara's breathing indicated she had fallen into a deep sleep, then he slipped out of the hammock, stretching and working his muscles from the unaccustomed sleeping arrangement before pulling on his clothes. He washed his face and worked with the little heat ring until he got it going and heated water.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked from the hammock, her voice muffled by sleep.

"I'm making you tea—and providing you hot water to wash your face," he said. He dipped a corner of her towel into a bowl and poured water from the kettle on it.

As he handed the towel to her, he realized there was no terror in her eyes, no depression casting a shadow on her face. She was beautiful.

"Kiss me, Sara," he said. "We have ants to find!"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Honeymoon Chapter 2**

**The Lowlands**

"I can't go back."

"Back?! We are in the middle of a swamp!" Sara sat back on her heels and looked at her husband as if he had suffered a heat stroke.

Gil Grissom chuckled. "I mean back to Vegas. I didn't realize how tired I was of all of it until I got here." He stopped what he was doing—collecting ants—and looked at her. His wife was hot, sweaty, dirty, wearing rubber boots that came almost to her knees, a hat covered her head, and she was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "You look good," he softly said, "beautiful, actually."

Sara's face broke into a wide grin. "You're just saying that because I'm holding your jars for you!"

He dropped an ant in the clear container and she quickly closed the top, adding it to a growing stack.

She counted the empty containers, saying "Fifteen more to collect." She held a small jar at eye-level. "How does he get these back to France?"

"In his carry-on bag."

Sara's mouth gapped open. "You are joking, right?"

Grissom shook his head, stood and offered her his hand. "He doesn't trust checked luggage so he pads his carry-on and takes them back."

"What if they escape? People would go nuts—ants on a plane! Geez, remind me never to fly with him!"

Grissom laughed and picked up one of the bags. "They are leafcutters—not interested in humans." He saw her grimace. "Well, not much interested in humans."

All morning they had followed a narrow trail through a marshy area locating dry islands and the traps the researcher had placed several days earlier. Sara followed as Grissom checked his GPS for the trail direction. "Not much longer, then we can get back to the tree house," he said as they sloshed through shallow water. "Look!"

His finger pointed at two large birds sailing above them. The bright red, blue, and yellow feathers belonged to only one bird in Costa Rica.

"Macaws—Scarlet Macaws!" Sara lifted her face and watched the birds fly to trees at the edge of the clearing. "They are not usually seen here but everyone hopes they will return with the corridors of protected lands." She knew this because of the nightly discussions at the center that covered every species of wildlife in the country. She fumbled for her camera.

Grissom watched as she pressed the shutter a dozen times. "You know they mate for life," he said. Sara glanced at him before taking a few more pictures. "Like us," he said with a grin and started walking.

When they had completed the ant collections, they had circled several acres of swamp land that provided no shade so the fringe of trees providing a few degrees drop in temperature was welcomed when they arrived back at the tree house. Earlier, they had filled the shower tank so there was enough water for a longer shower and cleaning the mud from their clothes and skin became a priority before eating.

Sara removed her outer layer, dropped her shirt and pants into a bucket of water, and then stepped under the sprinkle of water coming from the overhead container. Once she was wet, she stepped aside so Grissom could get under the shower.

As she soaped herself, and he removed his clothes, she asked, "Did you really mean you would not go back? To Vegas?"

He was stripping his clothes off, rolling each piece into a ball and trying a different toss at the bucket. Sara laughed at the sight of his boxers going between his legs, smacking against a tree trunk and falling into the bucket. There were smudges of mud on the back of his neck and tiny green leaves pressed to one leg and sweat had made a dirt trail down the center of his back. Sara stepped closer and lathered soap from his head to his butt.

"Well, we'll go back to Vegas—we've got a dog and a house there, and good friends, but I won't work at the lab. Ecklie mentioned that before I left, but I can't think of anything that would make me return. Not after this!"

They spent the afternoon in the tree house—a siesta, repacking the ants for their trip down river, watching dozens of birds sail across the tall grass, and eating beans, tortillas, and fruit.

"It's funny—we went from the condo in Vegas to one room." Sara waved her arm around the tent. She laughed, saying "I sort of like this one room idea."

Grissom tossed her a banana. "I'd like a refrigerator added."

She giggled, "And a real bathroom."

"Maybe a real kitchen, too," he said as he fell beside her in the hammock, giving it a push with his foot. "I'm almost tired of beans." His hand came between her shirt and abdomen. "And I like this way of dressing you've adopted." His fingers played across her belly as she laughed.

Exhausted, their hands touched and the quietness of the afternoon slipped around them as a blanket on a cold day. It did not take long for the swaying of the bed, the coolness created by damp skin and a breeze, to lull them to sleep.

Sara was first to wake; sleeping in the middle of the day was a luxury all hot places on earth should adopt, she thought. She smiled as she wiggled closer and touched his chest. Like him, she liked this way of dressing—wearing very little clothing in this cozy tree house where the nearest neighbors were birds in trees. She placed her finger above his navel and gently made a track up the center of his chest to the hollow of his throat.

In late afternoon, in the small space of an odd tree house, Grissom reminded her of the first time they had made love, and when she knew she had fallen in love with him. He quickly removed her panties and parted her legs with his knee as he kissed her. His fingers passed over her soft cleft and one finger curled and dipped, and, with a sweet grunt, he gave full attention to stroking her sex until she could no longer take another second of this kind of stimulation.

"Gil, now!" The hoarse whisper got his attention from other things he was doing.

He loved her, physically, tenderly; relaxed and confident, carefully modulating rhythm and tempo, determination, kissing her all the while. Grissom worked her as if she were an archaeological dig searching for priceless treasure; his fingers and lips sifted, dusted, sketched, touched, and catalogued until she was lying limp and satiated on the hammock, ready to be shipped to a museum in a box.

"I don't think I can move," she purred, pleased and pleasured, and sweaty.

His hand patted her belly and moved downward to the space between her legs he had recently left. She was wet—a mix of fluids including his own, he thought, and the idea brought a warm rising sensation in his groin.

"I might not be finished," he hummed as he turned his body to her. Just his words caused an involuntary spasm to lift her hips to his hand—he smiled at her reaction. She lifted her knee to rest on his, closing her eyes and smiling as she did this. They had grown fluent with each other's bodies with a sense of coming home, finding the place where they belonged regardless of surroundings. They twined together in the hammock and made love, slowly, saying words of love, and occasionally one would realize they were saying goodbye to a previous life and welcoming a new one.

After making love, Sara talked; she told him about memorizing paintings in an old art book while on the ship. "I have never been an aficionado of art—but I would see us. There's one by Chagall—a couple wrapped in a knot and floating above the world." She laughed as she described the painting. "And here we are."

"We can't stay here forever," Grissom said, and, for the first time in days, Sara knew they would leave this paradise at some point.

They had talked of the future in a vague and capricious way—settling and dismissing nothing at the same time. Several days after he had arrived, in a swing on the porch of one of the research center's buildings, Grissom had been as honest as he had ever been with her. He had spoken of their life together, the known past and their open-ended future, his hopes to teach and research, asking her questions for her wants and desires, and she realized he wanted a flow of days where he could take pleasure in the simplest of things and focus on a part of life he had forgotten during the years of working around so much crime.

"No," she agreed. "We won't stay here," she laughed. "One more night and then I want a real shower—or a bath! A very clean tub and lots of hot water."

Somehow, they had moved in the hammock so her feet were in his lap and he played with her foot, her toes. He lifted her foot and examined each toe with a very serious expression on his face.

"Can this toe be prettier after soaking in scented water?" He kissed it, a mischievous grin on his face.

His hands clasped around her ankles and he tugged, pulling her body to his, placing her feet on his shoulders so her bottom fit snuggly against his groin. His hands moved to her butt. "Could I want you—love you any more in a cool room with running water?" He said, teasing as he massaged her buttocks, letting his fingers separate and lift each one in a manner that was suddenly erotic, surprisingly sensual to Sara who, minutes before had thought she was completely satiated and satisfied after two intensely pleasurable orgasms.

The smile on his face let her know he knew what was happening to her body; she felt a rippling tension build deep inside her. Her hands raked along his thighs.

"I can't believe…" She stopped when she saw his smile. His hand had slipped from her rear to the damp area between her legs.

"Enjoy," he whispered as he kissed her thigh, inserting one finger, then a second one into her intimate core and keeping his thumb against the swelling nub at its entrance. Her muscles reacted to the movement of his fingers, the whisper touches of his lips; her orgasm came—long and pleasurable—as she momentarily lost the ability to think.

Grissom lowered her legs and covered her body with his as she floated out of the misty miasma of climax. He kissed her belly, her rigid nipples, the soft places on her neck, and buried his nose in her hair.

"I love you, Sara," he whispered.

She curled against him, murmured similar loving words, too exhausted to think.

At some time during the night, rain came. Sara snuggled into the sleeping bag and Grissom got up and unrolled the canvas on the eastern side of the tent. A wide overhanging roof kept most of the rain out, but covering that side would mean adding thirty minutes to their sleep before the sounds of the marshland woke them up. He crawled back into the hammock, slightly damp and cool against Sara's skin.

"Do we canoe in the rain?" She asked, her voice sleepy and sexy at the same time.

He burrowed beside her. "It'll stop by then." He kissed her temple, wrapped arms around her, and closed his eyes. He felt a nod of her head and her quiet breathing indicated a return to sleep. Happiness welled up inside him, suddenly; this is love, he thought.

_A/N: Thanks so much for the kind comments, reviews! Enjoy!_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Honeymoon Chapter 3**

**A Day on the Sarapiqui**

"We are supposed to leave no trace—haul everything out," Sara insisted.

"Its ash," he contended as he peered into the holding tank. "Let's just scatter it—or bury it."

Great white egrets flew up from the marsh grass and over the river where ripples of water slapped against the canoe; rain during the night had caused the narrow shoreline to disappear against a wall of reeds. Sara and Grissom had packed their canoe with everything, leaving nothing behind to indicate they had spent two nights in the tree house. Except one thing; Grissom had adamantly refused to pack out their waste from the chemical toilet.

"I'm not taking crap! Even if it is ashes." With that he took the small container somewhere in the swamp and returned ten minutes later. "Buried," he announced.

Sara had snickered all morning at his revulsion of packing out human waste. Coming from a man who stuck his arm into dead bodies, worked with blood so putrid no one could be in the same room, and had crawled through dead bodies to collect insects, dealing with ash waste should have been easy. Her snicker drew his attention and she felt water hit her back.

Again, she was not paddling much. The current carried them today, more swiftly than before. Grissom had already decided they would reach their pull-out point at least an hour earlier than planned.

"I would like a hot shower," Sara said.

"And a bed with real sheets," Grissom added.

She swiveled around to face him as she teased, "And what would you do in a bed, Gilbert, that you didn't do in a hammock?"

His smirk was one of satisfaction, pleased with himself and the world. "I'd sleep."

In the quietness of mid-day when even the birds seemed to sleep, they heard the sound of rushing, tumbling water, unseen from the river. A few minutes later, Grissom angled the boat off the river into a small creek almost hidden by lush greenery. A few more minutes of paddling through a thicket of hanging tree ferns and some kind of flowering vine, the stream opened upon a pool of water hedged perfectly by marsh grass. A wide torrent of clear water rushed out of a cleft between two rocks at the top of a stone covered incline and fell in a cascade into a wide sandy basin.

Grissom paddled the canoe into the very center of the pool. Looking down, they could see brightly colored fish swimming in the clear water. Sara's hand dipped into the water.

"Warm," she said as she began to unfasten her boots. "Let's go swimming," she said as she unbuttoned her shirt. He sat speechless as she stood in the boat and stripped nearly naked—only her panties and bra stayed on. She turned to him with the most brilliant smile on her face and jumped cannonball style over the side.

Grissom grabbed the gunwales of the canoe as it rocked from the waves. Sara came up laughing, shaking her head so droplets flew off her hair like thousands of diamonds. "Why are you still there?" she called and broke into a smooth swimming crawl.

He grabbed the tie rope and tossed it toward the reeds. He did not want the boat to float away while they were swimming. He removed his shoes and jumped, fully clothed into the water—it was freezing—like smacking into a glacier. For a moment, all he could do was tread water as his body tried to recover. He gasped for air as he watched Sara swim in circles around him.

"I can't believe this!" He shouted. "It's freezing!"

She swam to him, her long legs scissoring in the water. "It's not so cold—take off your shirt!" She performed a surface dive that caused him to immediately feel warmer when her butt broke the surface.

He took a breath and followed her, splashing around more than swimming, knowing he could not match her effortless strokes, as they played with child-like rambunctious energy. Grissom collapsed first, pulling himself into the boat and stretching to dry in the sun, watching Sara tread water and float as the pool calmed from their play. She dogpaddled to the canoe, maneuvered her foot over the side and rolled into the boat head first. Grissom laughed as he handed her one of the two towels they carried.

They lay in the boat, on top of duffle bags carrying their belongings and jars of ants, and let the sun dry their bodies and clothes. They listened to the small sounds of the world—bird calls, invisible scratching and clawing of unseen insects, and an occasionally splash of water as the fish returned to their quiet pool.

Grissom said, "I hate to say this, but we need to go."

Sara nodded and found her shirt and pants. "At least I smell better!"

They paddled the canoe back into the wide river as large birds sailed overhead and ducks floated along the surface of the river.

They knew they had reached a more populated stretch of the river when two tourist boats came into view—long blue pontoon boats capable of carrying a dozen people. They waved and when a man asked where they were from, Grissom pointed northward.

"Nicaragua?" the man asked, and impulsively, Sara and Grissom nodded.

Sara giggled. "Do you think we look Nicaraguan?" She asked.

"Yeah, to him we do. Probably thinks we carved this canoe out of a tree, too."

Around the next bend, three men on horseback with a half dozen cows waved and tipped their hats to them. Grissom called out with "Hola!" and the men returned his greeting. They were passing through one of the small ranches left in private hands along this part of the river. The river grew wide and a beach and a pier on one side marked the first of several river side motels, lodges, and guest houses.

"Start counting—we pull out at pier number seven," Grissom said. Sara turned to face forward and saw another boat filled with tourists heading in their direction. She reached for her paddle.

"A long hot shower," she said.

"Food other than beans," Grissom added.

Sara laughed, saying "I'm not sure we would last long in the wild—I crave hot water and you want a flush toilet!" She felt cool water hit her back again.

They moved the canoe to the right and Grissom mentioned the sounds of birds had faded since they had passed the first tourists. "The birds know they can't compete with commerce," he said as they passed the fourth pier.

They could see swimming pools and grassy lawns, people sitting and playing around the motels and guest houses. A few people waved as the passed; Sara knew their appearance was as strange as those of Lewis and Clark to Native Americans. The first four piers had come in rapid procession, but the fifth and sixth piers were separated by a half-mile or more. Sara noticed an obvious difference—the fifth and sixth places were definitely upscale, more Hilton than Holiday Inn, she thought.

"What's the name of the place we pull out?" She asked. Grissom and the French researcher had made all the plans for this trip while she had been with another group.

"It's an eco-lodge—that must be it—a pier and a foot bridge across the river. Alain will be here to pick up the ants and the canoe, but we're staying three days. He said it would be a treat after the tent."

Sara glanced in his direction; he ignored the look she gave him and pointed ahead.

"This is it!"

For a few minutes, both paddled, turning the canoe so it drifted into the tall grass along the bank. Before either could get out, two men in trim black pants and bright white shirts appeared. They grabbed the rope Grissom tossed and pulled the boat and its passengers onto dry land.

"Dr. Grissom, I presume!" One of them shouted, "And Mrs. Grissom! You are expected. Dr. Gerard has been here since yesterday waiting for you." The youngest man extended a hand to Sara to help her out of the boat. "You have had a successful trip?"

Sara spotted Alain Gerard loping along a covered walkway, waving, calling their names. She looked closer at their surroundings. This was no Hilton, she thought—more like the MGM Mansion—without the high rise towers, without the lights, she hoped; she didn't see limos or fountains from the river. The four men were unloading the canoe, sounding like magpies as they all talked at once.

Alain finally turned to her. "Sara, you have a bungalow—a delightful room, you will find! Like the tree house, only better!" He leaned close to her and whispered, "Mary Ann sent your bag—shoes and some things she said you would want!" He called another young man over, giving instructions in Spanish and indicating to Sara she was to follow him. He chuckled, speaking softly, "We will get your groom to you quickly—yes, so I can get back to the research center with my ants!" He kissed her on both cheeks. "You are delightful! And you found the spring…" He touched his nose. "It is the wonderful smell of minerals that gives you away!"

Sara pointed to their duffle bags and the young man easily hoisted both and they climbed steps to the walkway. A ten minute walk through a jungle-garden got them to a small cottage—a rain forest doll house, Sara thought. A covered porch, tall windows, and when the door opened, she felt mechanically cooled air. The man with her placed their bags in a small closet where she noticed another bag, showed her a very large and very clean bathroom with a toilet and a bidet. A king-size bed took up most of the space in the room; an alcove with two double-size reclining chairs opened to the porch. Behind a wall of doors was a small kitchen—a refrigerator stocked with snacks and drinks, even a microwave oven and a blender. All she could do was nod her head as he showed her the thermostat and remote control for the ceiling fans, explained meal service and mentioned laundry service. She had been sleeping in a lumpy bunk bed for weeks with the exception of two nights after they got married; and after two nights in a tent with a chemical toilet and hammock for a bed this room was heaven.

Alone, she examined herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked like a castaway—her nose was red; once she removed her hat, her hair looked like curly wool. Her arms were covered with freckles and bug bites and her clothes—she frowned at the wrinkled mess of her appearance. She pulled the bag from Mary Ann from the closet. The woman had good sense, Sara thought, maybe this bag held a change of clothing appropriate for this place.

She wasn't disappointed. Mary Ann had packed two changes of clothing for each of them—white, khaki, and black—the colors of light packing. At the bottom, Sara found a surprise: a bright folded square of blue fabric and a note. "_I found one of these years ago and love its many uses—skirt, dress, shawl, cover up—a dozen ways to wear it. Enjoy the lodge, the food, and the privacy. It is one of our favorite places in Costa Rica."_

The shower was her first stop. There was enough shampoo, body washes, soaps, conditioners, and lotions for a dozen guests. She chose a grapefruit scented set and stepped inside the shower where four different spigots sprayed water. She could detect the faint odor of minerals and then realized the water must be coming from the same source as the water they had swam in earlier.

She felt Grissom's arrival before she heard him—the air changed slightly as he opened the door—and then she heard his whistle before he said, "Nice!" He came into the bathroom and said the same word again.

Sara called, "A hot shower—I'm happy!"

The shower door opened. Unaware of how attractive she looked, she smiled, placed hands on her bare hips and said, "Aren't you coming in? There's plenty of room."

His eyes got no further than her nipples as her words were all the encouragement he needed. He took the bottle of body wash from her hand and made sure every part of her was thoroughly clean, as she did the same to him. By the time his hand reached her legs, his erection was bobbing between them like a balloon on a string.

"That's not doing me a bit of good dancing around like that," Sara murmured in a husky, sexy voice that rivaled a professional temptress.

All Grissom could do was groan as she stretched to tiptoes, wiggled her hips and caught him between her thighs. His hands caressed her butt, lifting, separating her before he suddenly let go with one hand, turned off the water, and said:

"There's a bed in there—real sheets," he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Sara. "The bed—that's where this is happening! I'm too old and too tired for stand-up sex."

The cool, clean soft sheets against their skin seemed to rejuvenate their senses. Grissom patted her dry—except for one area that seemed to dampen at his touch. Sara stretched on the bed and moaned as his gently touched her; he lifted one leg and began kissing her knee, moving up her thigh to the warm, wet triangle he had already found. He kissed her, opened mouth, using his tongue as her hips shifted, lifting to him. The fragrance of her was so unique, so exquisitely feminine, he could live the rest of his life knowing her scent, he thought. She twisted against his hand when his fingers found the small, sensitive bud and began to work it with his fingers. In minutes, she was so wet that his hand glistened with her fluids.

As he blew a soft breath of air against her folds, she stiffened and clenched around his finger. Her muscles tightened. She was completely within a force she could not stop. He probed gently using fingers and tongue to bring her to a plateau of passion; her breathing quickened; her muscles tensed. He wanted to feel the inside of her as she climaxed; quickly, he moved upward, thrusting his erection deep inside her.

Sara gasped and made a sound of pleasure as his lips came to hers. She opened her mouth to his as she felt his fingers clench her hair. Rhythm and tempo increased as tension built in both. She broke contact and fell back, sucking in air as orgasm claimed her brain, suspending all thoughts except for passion. Within the minute, Grissom became incapable of doing anything else as he filled Sara, spent himself with rapid thrusts, groaning as he collapsed across her breasts, his arm wrapped possessively around Sara.

They lay quietly for a time, taking in the sensations of their bodies, their surroundings, the subdued sounds from outside the room, the warmth between them.

Grissom's head rested against Sara's forehead. He kissed her nose. "Thank you, dear, for getting me here."

_A/N: Thanks for reading and your comments! This will be a short one, so enjoy this little glimpse of our favorite newlyweds! _


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for your reviews!_

**The Honeymoon Chapter 4**

**Bugs, Butterflies, and Birds**

"I have nothing to wear."

Sara moaned as she held up a wrinkled shirt. She had dumped the contents of each bag onto the bed and was sorting through clothes. The nicest blouse she had—the one she had worn for her wedding—was hanging on a peg back at the research center. She had three clean pairs of pants and four simple, pullover shirts, thanks to Mary Ann sending a bag of clean clothes. "Let's order room service, Gil—or go to one of the smaller cafés."

Men were so lucky, she thought. Grissom had put on a blue shirt and khaki pants and appeared perfectly dressed for a casual dinner in the most expensive restaurant at the resort.

As if to read her mind, he stepped behind her and wrapped arms around her waist. "You will be the most beautiful woman in any room—room service or café? You choose—room service sounds wonderful—and we can sit on the porch and watch birds." His hands moved up to her breasts, now covered by the blue wrap that she had tied around her neck. "What is this?" He turned her around as he searched for an opening. "I can't get inside," he complained.

She laughed as she showed him how she had wrapped the square around her body. "Mary Ann sent it with our clean stuff." She reached for a small bag. "She even sent my beautiful necklace." The chain of loops fell into her hands.

Grissom fastened it around her neck. "It looks beautiful on you—just as you are." His hands traveled from her neck to the small of her back and he hugged her tightly. "Room service," he said.

Their meal was delicious—and no beans. They ate sticky rice with a lemon coconut sauce, baked plantains, and some kind of vegetable pear with corn. Grissom added tuna to his plate; Sara ordered a bowl of fruit with hers.

Their porch turned into a bird watcher's haven for ducks, cormorants, several tamed toucans, and hummingbirds that came for the bromeliads and orchids. Before sunset, a few butterflies arrived; they had seen thousands of butterflies as they worked but sitting on the porch watching made each one remarkable. The Blue Morpho, its bright electric blue and black coloring, made it instantly recognizable. A black and white Longwing hovered above Sara's blue shawl until it decided she was no flower. As darkness came, the moths arrived—leaf mimics and brushes and one as large as Sara's palm—attracted by the light.

Grissom stretched in the hammock but Sara stayed near the porch rail, remaining very still as she watched the jeweled winged insects fluttering among the flowers.

"This is paradise," she said.

He waved his hand for her to join him. "It is—I think I could stay here forever—start a 'bug of the month' club," he laughed at his joke and the hammock swayed as she folded beside him. His arm went around her.

They rocked quietly until the frogs and unidentifiable night creatures were chatting in a chorus of chirps, peeps, and twitters.

"You know, we can stay here—in Costa Rica—for months," Grissom said. "Lots of researchers are looking for volunteers." He paused long enough for Sara to know that something else was coming.

"And," she encouraged.

"What would you think of Paris?"

She sat up, quickly, causing the hammock to swing off its rhythm as she wiggled to face him. "Paris? Paris? From Costa Rica to Paris!" She spoke suddenly, surprised, before realizing their connection to Paris. "Alain—he's asked you, hasn't he?" She grinned. "I should have known!"

Grissom folded his arms behind his head; he smiled. "It's your call, sweetheart—Paris or the rainforest. Alain is researching bio-fuels—the way those ants process fungi—and he needs someone to teach."

"In French?"

He chuckled, "No, this is an international class—in English—so—what do you think?"

"Paris—I could go there." She drew her knees to her chin, a frown forming. "What about Hank? He's in Vegas—do you think we can fly him to Paris?"

Grissom's arms reached for her. "Yes, Parisians love dogs. Hank would be at home." He hugged her. "So—I can tell him yes?"

"You haven't already agreed?"

"No, I told him we would discuss it—I needed to talk to my wife."

They slept soundly and easily in the air conditioned room moving as one on the king-size bed. When Sara rolled to her side, she felt an arm drape over her and a hand moved to rest on her chest. She tucked her hand under his and fell into dreamless sleep.

Early in the morning, with the haze of dawn disappearing as the sun rose, Sara woke to the smell of food—hot coffee and cinnamon muffins—and the feel of something firm and rigid nestled against her backside. Opening her eyes, she could see a steaming cup sitting beside her bed.

Rolling over, she said, "It seems someone had a restful night."

Grissom placed a leg over hers. "I did. Did you?"

She nodded, reached for the cup, and tested it with her tongue before swallowing. "Good stuff, Gilbert. Do you have plans for the day?" She returned the cup to the bedside and kissed him.

He chuckled. "I'm on my honeymoon—I have plans for right now." He rolled on his back and, magically, the sheet rose in a tent-like structure over his groin.

The sound of Sara's giggle was enough to turn Grissom into a melting pot of emotions—it was happiness, security, and, this morning, extremely sexy. When she kissed him again, it was with an openness, a contentment that was new to both of them. And her enthusiasm for loving him seemed to grow each time they made love.

Her kisses tickled his skin and when she used her tongue to touch and taste him, he nearly soared above the bed except her hands caught and held him tight. When he had taken all the stimulation his body could stand, he pulled her up so she straddled his thighs.

"Open your eyes," he instructed. He caressed and stroked; her sensitive bud already swollen; this intimate place already wet with anticipation.

Her hands twisted in the sheets as she responded. With a swift movement, he entered her body and rolled. He grinned, remembering why he loved big beds, as he settled his knees between hers. She kept her eyes open until passion closed her lids as her hips rose with his rhythm and waves of orgasm washed over her body in a tide that drowned all other thoughts and sensations.

Grissom managed to maintain control, barely, until her climax waned; he wanted to feel her powerful contractions against his erection. His groan was one of passion and pleasure, muffled when Sara kissed him, deeply, swallowing the sound as it came from his lungs.

Some time later, after the sun was up, they wandered miles of paths around the lodge. Most tourists crossed the suspension bridge and took the shorter circle path, but Grissom had thought to order packable lunches and they took the longer hike, finding themselves the lone tourists on most of the well-marked trail. They moved quietly, talking softly, and were rewarded with sightings of birds, monkeys, deer, a large iguana, and on a small creek, watched a jesus-christ lizard perform his acrobatic walk on water.

The forest was filled with hundreds of birds and butterflies; flowers grew in such profusion that the nose was overpowered. Sara had started out taking photos of birds and single flowers, bushes and trees covered with blooms, but by the third hour, she had put her camera away, saying there was too much. The track of the trail crossed a busy highway with a rest area and a bus stop and they ate lunch on one of the picnic tables surrounded by travelers—tourists in rental cars, farmers in trucks, and families getting on and off buses that ran between small villages and towns.

Their return hike was slower—the time of day for a siesta, Grissom said—as they ambled along the path. He talked of his love of insects; ants had been the first ones, he explained, when his father had presented him with an ant farm. Rounding a curve in the path, he saw a large green bird.

"Amazon kingfisher," he whispered. They watched as the bird cocked his shaggy head and watched the water of the stream below him. In a flash, the bird plunged into the water and came up with a small fish in its long bill. He slammed the fish against a tree limb before swallowing it. "He's tenderizing it," Grissom explained.

They watched as the bird made a call into the wind before diving again. A second bird joined him—a female with the same but slightly subdued coloring—and she waited as the male bird slammed the second fish against the limb before placing it between her bill. Instead of swallowing, the female flew down to the bank.

"There's a nest!" Sara pointed to an opening tunneled into the riverbank. They watched as the male bird continued to catch several fish for the babies in the nest.

As they continued their walk, Sara asked, "Did you learn the Kookaburra song?" Grissom shook his head, puzzled. "It's about a kingfisher bird in Australia," she said. "A completely nonsensical song my brother taught me when I was five or six." She laughed at her remembrance; Grissom knew she rarely talked about her brother. He took her hand as they walked.

"We sang that song in the car, at the table—all the time. 'Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree…' and one night we were in my bed singing that song when the door flew open and it was our father." She paused, "I have no idea why my brother was in my bed—probably reading to me—there was our father looking furious, a fist in the air, and wearing only his underwear. He always came in the front door, dropped his pants and stayed in those loose fitting boxers the rest of the night. 'It's one o'clock in the morning, for God's sake, shut up and get to your room!'" She made her voice gruff as she recalled the words.

"Steve went to his room, our father returned to the television, and fifteen minutes later, my brother was back and we sang another ten rounds—'merry merry king of the bush is he'—we were laughing more than singing, then our father showed up again, shouting to both of us to shut up. We were laughing so hard that we couldn't shut up!"

Her voice sobered, she paused for a minute. "He had his belt in his hand and he hit Stevie so hard across his knees that I felt the air through the covers. Steve jumped up and danced around the room—which made it worse." She wiped her hand across her face. "Later, Steve sneaked back into my room—my father had not hit me—and Steve said it had not hurt much. But I put wet washcloths on the welts and he swore we would run away together one day." She sighed. "Sorry," she whispered. "I remembered that story—I don't know why I had to tell it."

Grissom pulled her tightly to his side. "Because that's what we do, Sara. I've never heard you call your brother Stevie—do you remember the rest of the song?"

She laughed and began to sing quietly, "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree, merry merry king of the bush is he…" She finished the song with "Laugh, kookaburra, laugh kookaburra! Gay your life must be!" She laughed at its end. "Isn't that a funny song—probably a real Australian would think we were crazy for singing it."

"You don't talk about your brother—you should."

"I don't remember much, Gil. He was there and then he wasn't. It's funny how the mind works," she looked at him. "Being with my mom—when she couldn't sleep—she would talk about things that happened, places we visited and lived, but never once did she talk about how my father beat her or how my brother died. It was as if her mind had erased all of that."

They walked in silence for a while. Abruptly, Sara said, "Now, years after everything, I think my brother was gay—I'll never know, but he probably drove into that bridge—frustration with trying to figure out life, our father's constant abuse—it happens more often than we know. For years, I thought he abandoned me."

"Did you and your mother talk about this?" Grissom asked.

She snorted a dry laugh. "No—no—we talked about how he loved to sing. She made him a black cape once and he 'performed' for us—not our father—just the two of us. She laughed as she remembered him trying to dance and sing like Gene Kelly."

Grissom wrapped an arm around her, running his hand along her arm. "Is it good for you to remember?"

"Yes—for so long I thought I was shutting it all out, but I was really shutting it in, letting it sit inside me where it grew and irritated everything around me." She smiled, a broad face changing grin. "I've changed—I'm not keeping it inside any longer. It's the past and I can't change it." She wrapped her arm around him. "I hope you can live with my change!"

He smiled, "I can—I like it." Frowning, he said, "You know, I'm trying to change, too, hopefully for the better." The suspension bridge came into view. "We're almost there—do you think we have time for a siesta before dinner?"

"Always," she said with a laugh. "I have one stop to make first."

Her stop was in one of the lodge's shops where she quickly found what she wanted while Grissom purchased post cards and made a phone call. When he asked what was in her bag, her answer was: "A surprise!"

A quick shower washed the dust and sweat away; Grissom wrapped a towel around his waist and held one for Sara. She kissed him after she had draped the towel around her body.

"Get in bed—I have a surprise!"

Grissom's eyebrow went up; he grinned and disappeared into the bedroom. Sara removed two of three items she had purchased from the bag. She smiled as she turned the objects in her hands. A honeymoon deserved something like this, she thought.

_A/N: Got to have some mystery and excitement on this honeymoon between these two! Read, review, enjoy! This one is short--probably two more chapters!_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Honeymoon Chapter 4**

**Pink, Mint, and Cherry**

The panties were bright pink—a tiny string bikini—and smelled of mint; an odd scent for edible panties she thought as she pulled them up her legs. The other package took a minute to open, read directions, peel off the sticky side of the discs and apply the pink petals to her nipples. She looked in the mirror and giggled at her reflection. She clicked the light off and walked into the bedroom.

Grissom was waiting in the center of the bed with the sheet tucked around his hips, an expectant smile on his face. Sara walked slowly to the bed, her arms swinging behind her like a model on a runway. She stopped at the edge of the bed, turned left, then right. With a smile on his face that few ever saw, he took her hand, entwined his fingers with hers; almost in a whisper, she began to recite a rhyme, almost singing, as his fingertips gazed over her body.

"I wish I was a donut and get eaten every day, to stick on someone's fingers in a most delightful way…I wish I was a donut…"

Sara stopped her recitation by placing her lips to his and she felt, rather than heard, a slow rumbling in his chest as he suppressed a chuckle. His fingers moved in circles around her nipples, caressed the curve of her neck, and followed with kisses. When he got to the pink circles on her breast, he chuckled. "What are these?" He tugged gently with his teeth but they remained stuck in place. He tugged again. They remained in place. He frowned. "They taste like cherries!"

Unable to control her humor, Sara laughed as she watched him try to lift the edge of the petal with his teeth again.

"I think you…" His tongue tickled; Sara was barely able to form words. He looked at her again.

"Are you sure these come off?"

She nodded her head, "You lick or suck them off, dear. They don't peel off." Her hand covered her mouth as she laughed harder.

"Oh," she heard.

Grissom went to work with his tongue and mouth and found the little pink petals dissolved rather quickly. A giggling Sara made him keep his mouth against her breasts as he used his tongue on her nipples. Only after he placed one hand between her legs and slipped one finger along her feminine folds, into her cleft, stimulating her with finger and tongue, did her laughter turn to fast, panting breathing until she was on the verge of an explosion. He then tapered off the nuzzling, sucking, ticking—the pasties long gone—and pushed himself downward to look closely at the new pink panties.

"What is this?" His finger slid along the string to the bright triangle between her legs.

She gasped for breath, panting as she propped on her elbows. She grinned a mischievously wicked smile. "Edible," she mouthed.

His hands went to her butt; he lifted her at the same time his head bent to the panties, and quite loudly, he pretended to chomp and chew the fake fabric that dissolved almost instantly when his tongue touched it. He began to laugh as he sucked and nibbled the tiny band across her hip as a child would eat spaghetti. By the time he rolled her hips, continuing the process on her backside, they were hurting from laughter.

He choked and coughed. Sara twisted to face him. "Are you okay?" She asked before he began to laugh again.

"Fine—I don't want to leave you a widow with this bit left," and he lifted the last little piece of pink from her hip with his fingers and dropped it into his mouth. They fell back onto pillows, laughing louder.

He said, "I can't believe we've never done this. And that you found those things here!"

Sara said, "In the lobby there's an advertisement for a honeymoon package—I knew that gift shop would have something." She pointed to her nipple, "There are more of these!"

"I want to stay here all day," he whispered as he snuggled against her neck.

If they had plans, they were forgotten as they spent hours holding hand in the armchairs with Sara wearing the blue wrap toga-style, exchanged unhurried kisses that eventually moved them back to bed, and made love twice before noon. Grissom called for room service meals and they ate on their private porch. Somewhere in the distance, they could make out the sounds of human activity, but saw no one until their lunch arrived.

After they ate, Sara pulled him back into their bed—for a siesta, she insisted. He let her lead him into the bedroom, where she had smoothed the covers on the bed. Almost without words, they lay together, their bodies touching, and slowly, the scent and warmth of each other brought sleep for a short time.

Grissom woke first, and with caressing hands brought Sara from sleep. His hands moved over her body as she began to respond to desire. She kissed him, lingered, played, teased and finally seized him with a greed that made him swell and throb. Her lips traveled down his chest; she kissed a circle on his belly, and, slowly ran her tongue along his erection.

"I can't take much of this," he whispered.

"Yes, you can." She circled its base with her fingers, moving her mouth again. She felt his muscles react to her stimulation, but, gradually, decreased her actions.

As she got out of bed, Grissom asked, puzzled. "Where are you going?" He pointed to his erection. "Ahh—we're not finished!"

He heard a dizzying seductive laugh as she disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared in seconds holding a small package. "You got the tasty panties—I get this!"

She was back in bed, ripping the package open, before he could see what she held. It took several seconds for him to recognize the lime green object that lay in her palm.

Sara giggled, "I've only seen these—never actually held a new one," she giggled again as her finger touched the bumpy surface of the condom before she began to unroll it on his penis. She snickered and giggled as little projections popped out. "Oh! Look, this one needs some help!" Her fingers circled the condom and she stroked it several times.

Grissom snorted, groaned, "I need some help."

She stretched beside him. "Get to work, stud muffin—I want to see if these things live up to their reputation!"

His eyes widened. "You've never tried these before—for real?"

She shook her head, laughing. "Nor edible underwear—had to save something for the honeymoon!"

He slid his hand along her thigh, gently pushed her knees apart and rolled into place. His slightly green penis made him laugh. "Now what is this supposed to do?" He playful asked as he carefully examined what she had placed on his erection.

"Tickle," she purred.

Neither believed the condom played a role in their enjoyment of love-making, especially after one of the lumpy projections ripped during a playful thrust and the head of his penis pushed through the tear. Both burst into laughter—caught, Grissom said as he tossed the shiny stretched-out latex over his shoulder.

For Sara, she progressed from orgasm into sleep without missing a beat. Grissom did not sleep so quickly. His arm pillowed her head as he lay beneath the circling ceiling fan, his mind traveling from their recent activities—they should have been exhausted from laughter but it had spurred and heightened the desire for sex. And Sara slept. He remembered many times when she had remained awake while he dozed in the aftermath of their lovemaking. The blush on her cheeks, the tan lines along her shoulders, the way she breathed as she slept gave him more satisfaction than he could voice.

He was relieved she was sleeping, content and pleased, enjoying their time alone, yet in the shadows of his brain, he sensed there were unresolved issues of the past—the recent past, Vegas—that had not been mentioned since he arrived. She had asked about everyone as a friend does, but she had said nothing about work—her career of the past decade. She had changed, just as he had, yet she mentioned no dreams or goals for her future; he knew the ambitious young girl of a decade ago had not completely disappeared.

Neither could remember a day when they had done nothing—together—but watch the day pass.

"We should go see the waterfall," Sara said late in the day.

"And the volcano—ride a horse, maybe," Grissom suggested.

Sara grimaced. "I don't think my—my," she grinned. "I don't think I can sit on a horse for hours after the workout I've had today."

Grissom pulled her into the hammock where they remained until darkness and hunger moved them to another place.

_A/N: Time to review! Thanks so much--one more chapter for this short story posted soon! We love hearing from readers!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Honeymoon Chapter 6**

**An Ideally Suited Place**

"Something different," he said.

They were finishing up their breakfast—every morning food had appeared with a phone call—while sitting on the porch. This bungalow was the most private one on the grounds; Grissom was sure Alain, Dave and Mary Ann had known this when it was suggested as the end of the canoe trip.

He continued, "Today, we can ride with other tourists to the most active volcano in Costa Rica, and then to the waterfall." He picked up a colorful brochure. "It's a must see."

Sara traced the route with her finger. "I hate to be closed up in a stuffy van—why don't we walk." She found a chart showing distances. "We can do this—not like we are climbing the volcano—and we don't have to pack food, just water. See—we'll pass through at least one village."

Grissom's hand caressed her thigh, "You're sure? Not too much?"

They walked well together. Sara had noticed this years ago and today proved no different. Grissom stopped for anything that crawled—beetles, caterpillars, ants, assorted other bugs; Sara stopped for birds and flowers. But there was more pleasure in their walk than looking at insects and spotting birds. They walked along a river path above clear water, scrambling down the bank to try to find frogs they heard, watching insects float in calm edges of the river. They crossed a once-cleared pasture on a well marked path where hundreds of trees had recently been planted. In the distance they could see the well-ordered fields of a farmer and in the quietness, heard a tractor.

The waterfall came first, reached by a steep trail, and approached from below the falls. They had thought the sky was blue until they reached the azure water pooling below, running among boulders the size of cars.

"It's beautiful," Sara said.

The water fell to a natural circle of rocks; a dozen swimmers played and missed the moment the sun was directly overhead, and by some magic play of sunlight, the intense green of plants, and the natural color of the water worked to change the water's color to a beautiful turquoise color. They sat together on a large rock and watched humans as Grissom often observed insects. The wet bodies moved in and out of the water, climbing, slipping, jumping, much as the silver-winged insects they had watched earlier.

Hunger, or the time to eat, moved them back to their path. They had a perfect day for hiking—a good day to see new places, Sara said. They found a café in a small village for a simple picnic—beans and tortillas spread with a runny cheese, small sour oranges, bottles of water, and chocolate bars made with local cocoa, strong and bitter on their tongues. They purchased more candy and additional water for the remaining trip.

For a while, the trail took them through a flowering garden. Grissom decided it had been planned; nothing could grow in such profusion without man's interference. Sara insisted it was natural. Tall trees were laden with yellow-gold trumpet shaped blooms, pink and white flowers on bushes entwined with rampant dark green, and trailing creamy, sweet smelling buds hid among all the yellows and pinks. Neither had ever seen or smelled such an extravagance of wildflowers in a small space, an abundance of fragrances growing in a wild frenzy of life.

Almost abruptly, they left the dense jungle and across the grasslands—many miles away—the volcano rose in gunmetal gray; a fluffy white cloud, not ash or steam, floated above the cone.

At the same moment, both said, "Wow!" Then grinned without looking at the other.

A short hike got them to another small town, larger than the village, where they found a café offering ice cream in a dozen flavors from hand-turned, ice packed metal containers. Sara asked for chocolate; Grissom chose the pink.

"It's my favorite color—lately," he stated with an amused expression on his face.

From their resting spot, they were able to take a wide, long view of the volcano. Grissom propped his feet on an empty bench, and Sara rested in a plastic chair; each taking a long time to eat ice cream.

The moment had come for a conversation; both knew this yet they were inhibited. Neither wanted this time to end

"Will you be ready to go back?" Grissom finally asked.

"Will you?" Her dark eyes softened as she turned to him.

"We owe Dave and Mary Ann a few weeks—if the Paris teaching works out, we'll need to be there in six weeks."

She smiled, "It will work out." Her hand came to rest on his arm. "This has been—more than I could ever imagine—a perfect honeymoon."

He reached across the table and kissed her, tasting faintly of some kind of berry.

The hike back to the lodge was a shorter walk, bypassing the waterfall, and mostly along cleared meadows and new forest growth. Flowers and butterflies were in great abundance and when they thought they had seen all colors and all shapes of both, a new one appeared. There were pink lilies and red foxtails, orange and white blossoms, a hundred shades of purple flowers. Butterflies with blue, yellow, and white coloring dipped from flower to flower. Abundant growth seemed to go on forever, or at least to the edge of the meadows. And among the trees birds sang, uninterrupted, as the couple, in well matched paces, continued their return hike.

This was their last night at this place, Sara thought, as their food arrived. They had eaten dinner on the porch each night, deciding they needed no company. The restaurant had served them huge meals on plates rimmed in cobalt blue. They ate bowls of buttery soup, rice and beans, squashes and tomatoes, and sweets—custards and tarts prepared from native fruits and cookies and cakes top heavy with fluffy sugar coatings.

Sara groaned and rubbed her belly. "I have to go back to eating less, Gil, or I'll look like a blimp in another month!"

They covered their leftovers with tight fitting domes and called for the cart to be picked up—food attracted wildlife, the waiter had explained their first night. Eventually, they moved inside where the room with its freshly made bed and gleaming bathroom seemed to wait. Sara had not, as many women do, scattered her clothes and belongings on all surfaces. Grissom did—his boots were beside a chair, his pants hung over its back, a shirt draped on a door handle. Their bags were opened, and even with them, it was easy to see which one belonged to Sara. Because this time was their honeymoon, or because they had lived together for so many months, their habits well-known, neither saw the usual routines of the other in a negative way.

Tonight, with the sounds of night insects and owls, outside their room, Sara met him with a passion as fierce as his own. She stroked his hair, kissed his eyes, buried her face against his chest as he held her wrists and plunged into her salty sea. She was waves arising around him. Here his life had been leading him, to this moving, breathing woman who knew his shortcomings, his weaknesses, and still she loved him with such determined certainty.

Much later, half-asleep, they talked—or he talked. "This is where I have always been coming to—everything else in my life will be marked by this time and place, Sara. Everything will be before and from now."

He felt her face move on his shoulder, felt her lips kiss him. She murmured, "Husband, you sound like a poet."

He smiled. He liked the appellation. He said so, "I like that—husband."

Sara smiled, "I do too."

_**EPILOGUE**__: More than a year later…(our version!)_

It had been an interesting year, Sara thought as she spread a fresh sheet over the bed. She had returned to Las Vegas, surprising herself the most, after a three-month stay in France. Her husband had gotten a visa to work almost instantly—a well-regarded researcher and the top entomology research program in the country could get things done rather quickly. For her, it had become an impossibility and after ninety days, she had to leave the country and re-enter to be a legitimate visitor. As beautiful as Paris was, she was bored--there was a limit to the times one could walk the neighborhoods, shop, eat, visit museums, especially when her husband and lover was working for hours on his lectures.

An unexpected call from Ecklie, of all people, had gotten her back to her old job. After long discussions with her husband, a plan had been worked out—she would work for ten days, be off for two weeks to travel to Paris. At any time, if either Ecklie or Grissom, or any of the others, noticed a change in her behavior, she would quit—immediately, no questions asked, no answers expected. At times, Nick and Greg had hovered over her like a mother hen over her chicks.

She completed her bed-making task and checked the bathroom. Now Grissom had returned. They had applied for dozens of grants with no luck—it was a long-shot everyone said, to get a grant with a first application. He was working at the university's research center and loving every minute of it. He had returned to the lab for one case—an especially difficult one for everyone involved—but his mind was elsewhere. She had continued working at the crime lab—part-time, only when things got backed up and they needed another pair of legs and eyes.

Any minute, she expected him. They had a good life, one filled with friends, work they enjoyed, their dogs—Hank now had a brother named Bruno, and the expectation of life. Their long-distance marriage had worked remarkably well in one aspect. Sara was pregnant and her growing belly had stunned everyone: Grissom danced around for days with a silly grin on his face, Catherine had been unable to hide her delight, Nick and Greg were strangely thrilled with the prospect of her having a baby, and she had been speechless.

She had found her voice one night in the lab when Catherine and Greg kept pleading with her to tell them more—boy or girl, chosen names, child care plans, would she continue to work, did she want this item or had she seen this gadget.

"We don't know if this little bug is a he or she—we are not going to know! As to names—you'll have to wait—it's a surprise."

"What about a warmer for wet-wipes? I've heard they are great things to have," Greg's normal energy level had doubled since Sara had announced her pregnancy.

"Greg, how do you know about such things?"

"I shop in Toys R' Us, so I've been checking out next door—Babies R' Us! You need to go with me one day."

She shook her head, "No way." She leaned against the work table and everyone in the room stopped working. She said, "When we were in Costa Rica, women carried their babies with them—in this shawl kind of wrap—and their babies never cried. They were cuddled until they could crawl." She grinned at their opened-mouths, "I think that's what I'm going to do."

Today, she chuckled. Their questions had tapered off but they had become even more careful with assignments or asking for her assistance. She had not seen a dead body in weeks—even Doc Robbins had banned her from his morgue—and now she was on leave. Bed rest, her doctor said. Sara had vowed her "high risk" uterus was going to hold on to this baby if they had to sew her legs together and hang her upside down. Her doctor insisted they would not have to do that.

Books and remote were at bedside. She had time for a fast shower before her "up time" expired. She tossed her clothes in the hamper, stepped into the shower and was drying her hair when both dogs barked; Bruno ran to the door. Hank stayed with her.

"You are up!" Grissom came in carrying sacks of food. "I stopped for dinner." He kissed her, placed food on the counter, patted both dogs, and turned to her placing both hands on her abdomen. "How are you? How long have you been up?"

"I'm fine—heading to bed now. How's work? And there's an important looking envelope with the mail!" She smiled as she took offered food and headed to the bedroom.

Several minutes later, Grissom showed up, holding the envelope in one hand, several pages in the other, a look of astonishment on his face. Sara muted the television.

He said, "We got it—we got a grant! After all this time—we got a grant!"

_...to be continued, maybe!_

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and comments--always appreciated, so if you have already done so, please do it again! If you have not, try reviewing now!! Reviews do encourage an imagination!_

_We have a lot going on in our part of the world right now so it may be a while before another story is posted. Here's hoping we get a Grissom "shout" or even see his face before season 11 ends! _


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